On the Seventh Day
by porcelaindakota
Summary: Danny has lost, and he fully understands the magnitude of his failure... an account of the final siege of Amity Park. [minor DS]


_On the first day, there was calm. _

No sun peeks out between the clouds, covering Amity Park in cool shade. A light breeze tosses the new autumn leaves through the air.

"How long has it been since a ghost attack?" Danny asks Tucker and Sam, sitting down next to them at their usual lunch table.

"Almost a week," Tucker replies between mouthfuls, sending pieces of ham and cheese flying. Next to him, Danny's eyes darken.

"It's just too weird…" he says, his voice trailing off, his eyes and his mind elsewhere.

Sam shrugs. "Maybe they finally learned to stay away?"

_On the second day, there was a warning. _

Danny shivers in his sleep, curling into himself protectively, as the temperature in his room drops dramatically.

A moan punctuates his dreams, waking him slowly, painstakingly. He sits up, shrugging himself out of the flannel blanket.

"Daniel, my boy…they're coming…" whimpers a weak voice.

Vlad Plasmius, bloodied and ragged, collapses in a heap, dying before his eyes on the bedroom floor.

_On the third day, the ghosts came._

The Fenton portal suddenly explodes, and seconds later, Jazz sprints from the smoking house, covered in ectoplasmic residue and cinders, screaming, eyes wide with terror.

People in the street stare, wondering at the cause of her distress. But then the door bursts open behind her, and they understand, crying out together. Several are frozen in place, staring at the ghosts pouring out of the doorway. The rest run, grabbing those who remain stationary and forcibly dragging them away. There are blasts and explosions, and Jazz continues to run, trying to close her ears to the cries of those behind her.

Above her, the sky is dark with ghosts.

_On the fourth day, Sam died. _

The ghosts were organized and working together; of this there was no doubt. Otherwise, they could never have pooled their knowledge and power, could never have figured out Danny Phantom's biggest weakness, the girl in all black who caught ghosts with him. They could never have found the chink in his armor.

Danny's biggest regret was that there was no time to mourn. He'd only had a few moments after he had found her remains, charred and disfigured in a warehouse in the industrial district, her blood marring the walls, used to scrawl a message: "A gift for the Phantom."

He buries her outside, thinking he will come back for the body once he has time for a real funeral.

_On the fifth day, there was chaos. _

There is screaming in the streets; ghosts are everywhere, killing everyone. No one is safe.

Anything public, anything that makes people go outside, is shut down. People hide in their homes, fruitlessly gathering weapons and food and trying to hole themselves up in basements or closets.

It doesn't matter. Ghosts come in anyway. Citizens are slain indiscriminately, bodies desecrated and thrown to the side, as their murderers move on to the next victim. Outside, Danny fights, desperately outnumbered.

_On the sixth day, there was no hope. _

Danny Phantom looks at his reflection in the cracked mirror, covered in scars and bruises, tears and blood. Glowing green eyes reflect in the dirty glass, staring back at him. They are empty. He has lost, and he fully understands the magnitude of his failure.

Outside, ghosts and monsters of every kind wail and pound on the old brownstone, reminding him that they are there, that they are never going to leave him.

He runs his hands over his face and prepares to make his final stand.

_On the seventh day, there was nothing left. _

It looks as if the city has gone through a war, a nuclear blight of some sort. Buildings appear to be bombed out, nothing but ruins remaining where a prosperous metropolis once thrived. At one point, there is a gaping hole in the street, opening up like a cavern into the sewers below. Above Amity Park, a cloud of smoke and ash seems to hover in place. It is a tombstone, a grim memorial to the fate of the thousands who once lived there.

In the city's center, there is a crater, formed by hot, twisted metal. It is marked by a piece of jagged steel, jutting up towards the black sky.

On it hangs a torn piece of black cloth, the letter 'D' clearly visible.

* * *

I actually wrote this, like, six months ago or some huge amount of time like that. Since then, I've posted it to a few places, edited it a little on my own, and waited for the users at those places to give me some feedback. While I've had a little input--"mega morbidness", XD--I haven't had much concrit, and I eventually decided to move it over here and see what I got.

So...yea. First DP story. Hope you like!

-sugarland


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